


Help Me Close My Eyes (I don't wanna see what my dreams will be like)

by maybe_we_were



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Nightmares, Sleepy Cuddles, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe_we_were/pseuds/maybe_we_were
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Stiles falls asleep at someone's bedside and one time he wakes up to someone at his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Me Close My Eyes (I don't wanna see what my dreams will be like)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I hope you had a great Sunday (or whatever day of the week it is when you read this). I was super happy with all the Stydia moments this season, so I'm really sad the season is over. Still, here is some love to one of my favorites, Stiles. I apologize if anyone seems out of character, I am still having a hard time finding all of the characters' voices.
> 
> Of course, Jeff Davis owns these guys, which is why I am biting my nails every Tuesday night.

Stiles feels he is definitely going to one of the lowest circles in hell.  What kind of a son gets his dad buzzed in order to find out confidential information? 

Apparently, he does.

And to make things worse, the Sheriff brought up his mom.  Even though it’s been many years, it still makes both of them vulnerable, which is understandable.  The loss of his mom was hard on both of them, leading them to lean on each other for support and care for one another. 

Now his dad is literally leaning on him as he helps him to his room, the strong drink making his dad wobbly on his feet.  The second the Sheriff hits the queen size bed, he falls asleep, either unaware or not caring that he was still in his jeans and long sleeved t-shirt. 

Stiles takes up residence on the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, a few feet away from his last blood-related family.  Although he wasn’t conscious of what he was saying, his dad’s mention of his mother shakes Stiles up. 

When Stiles would feel upset in the past, he would open his dad’s door and climb into the other side of the bed.  Just being near his dad was enough.  Unfortunately, he’s now far past that age, so in order to feel close and secure, he decides he’ll spend the evening in the chair, not only to make himself feel calm but to also watch out in case his dad needs anything. 

It’s been a long day of sleuthing on Scott’s behalf, enough that his eyelids grow heavy.

_TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW_

He’s woken up the next morning by his dad’s cell phone alarm going off, the noise coming from the kitchen.  He rises from the chair, stiff muscles protesting from a night sleeping in an odd position.  He walks over to the bedside and gently touches his dad’s shoulder before slipping out of the room and shutting off the incessant ringing.

* * *

 

He gets the phone call from Derek shortly after he leaves the club.  The last he heard from Derek, he was in a panic, telling Stiles that Scott was in trouble and he had to break the chain of mountain ash encircling the night club.  In short, Allison’s mom was going to poison Scott with wolfsbane and Scott almost died. 

Attempting to kill her daughter’s boyfriend? 

The woman is _obviously_ crazy. 

“He’ll be ok.  I took him to the clinic.  The doc checked him out and he can go home whenever.”

Derek’s voice pauses for a second before continuing in a quieter tone.

“Can you swing by and get him?  I have three betas to go find and check on.”

Stiles was in his jeep long before Derek asked, but affirms he’ll be there in a few minutes.  Going a little bit over the speed limit- _ok, maybe a lot more than a little_ –he arrives at the clinic in record time.  The back door pops open to reveal Scott being supported by both Derek and Deaton.  He knows things must not be great, contrary to what Derek said, if this is the case. 

Still supporting Scott, Deaton opens the jeep door, leaving Derek to help Scott into the bucket seat.  They close the passenger door with a muted thud.  Deaton looks past Scott, who is practically asleep or unconscious, he’s not sure which, and gives him a knowing look.

“Make sure he gets plenty of rest.  It may be better if he stays at your house, so it doesn’t worry Melissa.  And when he wakes, tell him I’ll see him on Monday instead of Sunday.  He’ll need the extra time.”

Stiles gives a quick nod and then waves to Scott’s mentor and fellow werewolf before pulling out of the clinic. 

The short time back to his house is quiet and Stiles is relieved when they pull safely into his driveway with no girlfriend’s crazy parents getting in the way.  He wakes Scott up enough for them to stumble into the house and up into the bedroom. 

“Hey buddy, I’m gonna call your mom and tell her you’re staying here.” 

Stiles gets an incomprehensible mumble in return, Scott’s face flat on the bed muffling his voice. 

He takes the necessary precautions of calling both Melissa and his dad, although he knows neither will object.  He then settles into the computer chair that is strangely comfortable and tries to piece together what happened with Scott. 

What’s been going on lately has taken a toll on Scott, even though he never says so.  Still, Stiles can see it in the dark shadows under Scott’s eyes, the fear in them when he’s near Allison, the frustration when he gets back a paper or test.  And while Stiles is normally the one with the answers, he’s really at a loss right now.  A lot of the factors pushing against Scott have to do with Allison’s family and their relationship but Scott loves her, so he knows there is nothing Scott wouldn’t do to be with her.

Sometime during his musings, he falls asleep, only to be woken by Scott calling his name. 

“Stiles…”

“Stiles.”

“Dude, come on, your dad made breakfast,” Scott’s voice is louder this time. 

The smell of food makes him open his eyes, which see Scott pushing himself off the bed.  The half human-half wolf is almost out the door before he turns around with a serious look on his face. 

“And thanks for last night.”

The relief he feels at knowing what he did was the right thing lifts his worry for Scott, as he gives a half smiles and trails behind him to go down to the kitchen.

* * *

 

“Wait, what happened?!” 

He left the blacklight party and was already on his way back to the school when Scott called.  His brain is already on overdrive, but it manages to hear _Lydia_ and _attacked_ and _home_. 

Scott takes a breath that Stiles can hear through the phone and begins again. 

“Lydia was attacked by the Oni.  Danny and Aiden found her on the roof.  She’s not seriously injured, Danny said he would take her home.”  The line goes silent for a few seconds.

“Stiles, she kept repeating something.  _They came out of the dark._   And she was cold, _so_ freaking cold.”

At this point, Stiles has already made a very impressive (and illegal) U-turn to go to Lydia’s house. 

Two minutes.

The previous task at hand forgotten, his mind is now on the strawberry blonde who has come to mean so much more than a crush and packmate.  Scott is quiet again, probably letting the information sink in.

“Stiles, you ok?” 

The question lingers.

“Yeah, man,” he says, pulling into the familiar drive, “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Thanks for telling me.”

Stiles takes approximately two seconds to shut his phone and rub his temples before shutting off the jeep and running to the front door.  There’s no light radiating from the windows, so he assumes Ms. Martin isn’t home.  He briefly wonders how many nights Lydia spends here alone.

He uses the spare key that’s kept under the loose brick on the front porch, the adrenaline helping him get the key in the lock smoothly.  One turn to the left and he’s in.  Pocketing the key, he takes the steps two at a time up to Lydia’s room. 

He finds her under a mountain of blankets.  Judging by the way they move, she’s still cold.  Glassy eyes peer at him, a halo of strawberry blonde hair barely peeking out. 

“S-s-stiles?” she croaks.

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Yeah, it’s me, I’m here.”  He moves over to the chair that’s in front of her vanity and pulls it next to the bed.

“Are you ok?” he asks, though he knows it’s a stupid question.

“I’m s-so cold.”  Her voice stutters again, her speech sluggish.

“Another blanket?” he questions.

“They say b-body heat is the b-best.”

And _there’s_ the Lydia Martin he knows, telling him her analytical conclusion, even when she’s practically hypothermic. 

Normally he would ask, but he simply takes off his shoes and slides under the covers.  It’s what he would imagine sleeping in an igloo is like.  He sucks in a breath and moves closer to Lydia, who moves towards him.  There’s a shock the first time he wraps an arm around her, similar to icy fingers touching your neck.  He runs his hand up and down her back to generate heat.  Her breath fans into his neck, and it’s not long before she’s breathing steadily and not shivering.  He knows he should, with what he learned from Kaitlyn, be heading back to the school, but he can’t bring himself to do it.  He relaxes enough to fall asleep with one of the people he can’t live without.

_TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW_

Prada wakes him up the next morning, yipping so someone will let him outside.  Stiles reluctantly untangles himself from the sleeping figure next to him and takes a moment to really look at Lydia, before slipping on his shoes.  He lets Prada out, fills his water and food bowls, and writes a quick note to Lydia, leaving it on her nightstand for her to find. 

He gets in the jeep and starts towards the school, dreading what he might find.

 

* * *

 

_Three…_

_Two…._

_One…_

He can still hear the gunshot ringing in his ears, feel the blood splatter on his face.  He didn’t have time to process before, his only objective being to get Scott the antidote.  Now that everyone has been cured and families have been reunited, Scott with his dad, Lydia with her mom, and Stiles with his own dad, the reality of what happened is settling in.

There’s an unspoken understanding that he and Scott are brothers, not by blood but by choice.  So possibly losing his life to save Scott’s was not something Stiles had to think twice about.  It’s the awful, gut-clenching feeling that comes afterward when he thought he was dead.

And Scott would die.

And his dad would be alone.

And there was so much he left unsaid.

He’s still in shock, remembering how it felt to realize he was alive, seeing the look on Scott’s dad’s face, a mixture of sympathy and concern.

Stiles shakes his head, trying to rid his brain of the sounds and flashbacks.  His dad sits silently in the car, where they are parked outside of their tan, two-story house.  The silence only lasts a few moments.

“Son,” his dad says, turning towards him and putting a hand on his shoulder, “you need to rest.”

There is _no_ way he’ll be able to rest, his mind constantly in motion, but he shakes his head in acknowledgement, just to make his dad feel better.  It won’t be the first time he’s done so, and probably not the last. 

He goes up to his room and takes a shower, trying to wash away the blood and the feelings.  Only one objective is successful.  He washes his face and hands at least four times, hard enough that the skin feels raw. 

Once finished, he dries off, throws on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, and falls into bed.  He’s not sure how long he lays there, eyes on the ceiling, but at some point he falls asleep.  He dreams, though there should be another word for what his subconscious is doing.  He dreams of what happened, only this time Mr. McCall wasn’t there in time.  It’s intense, the way he can feel the barrel pressed to his head, hear the shot ring out, then…

Nothing.

He’s scared awake, his body shooting up, breath coming out heavily.  He looks around, taking in his surroundings, willing his heart rate to slow down.  Everything is the same, except for the young woman curled up in a chair next to his bed. 

Her stunning hair stands out even in the darkness of the night, settled around her face.  One hand is dangling towards the floor, the other tucked securely around her waist.  She looks beautiful, in a worn pair of yoga pants and the sweatshirt he let her borrow a few weeks ago, but slightly uncomfortable. 

“Lydia,” he whispers trying not to startle her by gently resting his hand on hers.

“Lydia,” he repeats.

Her eyes flutter open, slowly at first.  They widen when she realizes why she is awake. 

“Stiles, you’re ok.” 

She says it as if it’s a confirmation she had to see and hear for herself, the words being a balm for Stiles as well.  He doesn’t respond with words, just a small bob of his head. 

“You looked really uncomfortable…Come here,” he says pulling back the covers and scooting towards the middle of the bed.  Lydia does as she’s asked with no hesitation, her back to his front.  She reaches behind herself for something, though he has no idea what. 

“You need more than just an emotional connection tonight,” she explains, grasping his hand and pulling it around her ribs.  He understands what she means, that sometimes you need physical comfort, a need to be held or to hold.  She knows what he needs better than he does. 

“Thanks,” he breathes out. 

And this time, peaceful sleep comes much quicker.

 

 


End file.
